October 30, 2008


Filed under: Uncategorized — theinkhorn @ 7:54 am

Camera Obscura. They came, and since our hearts had already been stolen by them prior to this, they had to settle for parts of our kidneys, livers and lungs. They opened the set with “Come back Margaret” and closed with “Razzle Dazzle Rose”, which was appropriate since the entire performance was, well, dazzling.

No unnecessary stage gimmicks, no prancing around like primates, no attempts to fire up the crowd with corny messages, just plain, simple, soothing music. Tracyanne was a real darling, Carey looked stunning as ever and Nigel entertained us with multiple instruments. Quite simply put, Camera Obscura swept all of us off our feets, lifted us a couple of hundred feet up and kept us there for an hour and a half.

Thanks a million for a fantastic time. Music was phenomenal, atmosphere was excellent. The “best audience” comment, however, well, everybody lies. Camera Obscura, you guys are not exempted from that. But nice try anyway. Whoever sent Camera Obscura to singapore, please, for the love of god, send Spoon next.


October 26, 2008


Filed under: Belles lettres — theinkhorn @ 9:47 pm

“Henry… Wake up…”

Its her voice. She’s here. She’s back. I throw the blanket off my head and open my eyes. The light stings my pupils as i struggle to focus. Finally, everything clears up but all i see is the walls of my bedroom, the empty picture frames on the shelves around the room, my LCD television hanging on the wall in front of my bed.

My heart sinks as i realise i’m the only one in the room. But then i catch a glimpse of red and when i turn to look down, there she is. She is lying right beside me, the sheets around her soaked in blood. Her chest cavity is exposed but she looks beautiful. She’s smiling at me, her eyes watery, her face pale, her hair exactly as i remember it.


I can barely speak as my throat starts to close up and my eyes start to fill with tears.

“Andrea… I’m so sorry..”


“I could’ve saved you. I could have…”

Tears are pouring down my cheeks now. My chest feels like an elephant sat on it and in the process, took a massive shit. I’m trembling violently and my fists are clenched.

“Yes you could have. But you didn’t. You didn’t Henry. You killed me.”

I sob even louder. I start pulling my hair because pain seems like the only way to drown out her voice. I start to bite my own tongue, drive my nails into my thighs, anything for that dose of pain.

“I didn’t. I tried.. Oh god i tried. Oh god oh god oh god.”

The phone rings and i sit up with a jolt. I’m sweating so much my pyjamas are soaked to my skin. My fists are clenched and pale, my eyes feel swollen and i taste blood in my mouth. I look at the clock. Its 4 in the morning. I’m alone in my room. She’s not here. She’s not here.

October 20, 2008


Filed under: Belles lettres — theinkhorn @ 9:30 pm

“105, 106, 107, 108…” I’m counting the number of steps it takes to get from the carpark to my apartment. Its 3 am and my 15 hour shift only just ended a half hour ago. A baby died of pneumonia earlier in the afternoon and i got to do the autopsy. As i fingered the limp little baby heart, all i could think about was the piece of kobe beef that had been sitting in my fridge for more than half a year. Best beef in the world they say.

Around me, the cars look evil. Their headlights look like eyes, slanted. On my left, a Porsche glares at me. On my right, a Maserati. The cars, they are judging me. A Beetle winks at me. A Colt rolls its headlights. The cars, they are watching me.

I’m up to 187 when i hear footsteps behind me, though I’m not sure because of the pot i smoked in the car. As I pass a shiny, black Aprilla which looks like its mooning me, I feel the cold of a stainless steel fruit knife pressed against my jugular. I freeze instinctively. The Aprilla’s laughing at me.

“Give me all your money. Don’t turn your head or i swear it’ll be the last thing you do.”

The voice is rough, coarse. Sam Elliot with a hint of Jeff Goldblum.

“Okay. Relax. I’m getting my wallet out…”

I reach for my Herm├Ęs wallet in my left back pocket slowly. As the robber focuses his attention on my left hand, my right adjusts my grip on my briefcase. I find the right angle, then grip the handle tight. The robber takes the wallet from my hands and just as i feel the knife inch away from my throat, i swing. It catches him square in the temple and knocks him out cold. He lies motionless, the knife lying some three feet away from him, glistening under the moonlight.

I bend down and inspect the man. He’s about my size, looks about my age. His clothes are dirty and smelly. He’s not wearing shoes. I force open his mouth and take a look inside. His teeth are yellow and decaying. His breath stinks.

“Scum of society.”

I stand up and am about to walk away when my briefcase suddenly opens and all my papers fall out in a mess. The latch broke when i smacked the robber in the head. I look down and something shiny catches my eye. I dig under the piles of paperwork and lying there under the medical reports and insurance claims is a brand new scalpel. I stare at it for a minute or so, then back at the unconscious robber.

You picked the wrong day. buddy.

October 19, 2008


Filed under: Uncategorized — theinkhorn @ 4:45 am

Excluding the short stint at Butterfactory, tonight was the first time i stepped into a bar, flung a shaker around, gave fake smiles to customers, served them delicious but annoyingly-hard-to-make drinks, in two years. Hacienda at Dempsey needed help, Azry recruited me for the night, and long story short, i still got it. I didn’t think so at first, but, believe you me, i still got it.

During my break, i sucked on my cigarette and looked at my hands. They were pale, pruned and wrinkled from all the water. And i realised, i actually missed seeing my hands like this. I looked in and i saw people sipping on mojitos i made. Back in Harry’s, people actually came back for my mojitos. In the end, Hacienda held up well, sales was extremely good, and the bar was in beautiful condition by closing time.

Who the man? I the man. I always suspected.

October 11, 2008

One Less Year.

Filed under: Uncategorized — theinkhorn @ 4:33 pm

Ah, my birthday. Normally I’d put on a festive hat and celebrate the fact that the Earth has circled the Sun one more time; I really didn’t think it was going to make it this year, but darn it if it wasn’t the little planet that could all over again.

Appreciate all the birthday greetings. Yes i am twenty. Though i feel alot older than that.

Its amusing to watch people’s reactions when i tell them i have no plans. Questions like “WHY” and “HOW COME” start popping out like zits. I understand that its common for people to feel super giggly on their birthdays. I just don’t see the point of picking one day of each year to feel extra happy.

Just for the sake of it, and to prove that birthday wishes are just stupid because they never come true, i’m going to make one. Here it is. For my birthday, i want… Audrey Tautou. Don’t tell me to be realistic because wishes are an excuse for people NOT to be realistic. So Audrey, call me.

P.S: I’ll even give this one a decade to come true. Don’t say i’m being partial.

October 5, 2008

Plastic Surgery Hoedown.

Filed under: Miscellanous — theinkhorn @ 10:50 pm

(Ryan Stiles)

“I went to the doctor, i thought it was funny.

What i wanted to do, cost alot of money.

He did it right away and never made a fuss.

I took some of the inches from my feet and put em on my penus(penis)”

I swear to god, i laughed so hard.


Filed under: Belles lettres — theinkhorn @ 2:39 am

“Welcome to Whose Line Is It Anyway, the show where everything’s made up and the points don’t matter. That’s right, the points don’t matter, just like pick up lines to Brad Pitt. Could use em’, but it wouldn’t really matter if he didn’t….”

I hate this show but tonight, Denny Siegal is on and i’m very turned on by what she’s wearing. Her grey blouse emphasizes her breasts and her black sweater makes it seem like she’s trying to be good and cover up even though deep down, she really is a bad girl.

I pop a few of vicodin and close my eyes and allow myself to drift off. Where i am, there is no pain. There is no sorrow. There are no tears. No blood. And Denny Siegal sits naked on a couch, gently calling out my name, taunting me, teasing me, daring me to come forward and take her. Its a beautiful world, one i hate to leave behind.

Suddenly, i’m jerked out of my wonderland by the doorbell.

“For fuck’s sake.”

I stumble to my feet. My head is spinning and my feet feel heavy and i’m deeply annoyed. Denny was about to do something very naughty to me.

“Hi. Sorry to bother you sir. I’m selling cookies. Would you like to buy some?”

The girl looks up at me with puppy dog eyes. She’s wearing a scout’s uniform or something and i think i would’ve found it very cute if she hadn’t been the one to ring my doorbell.


“Please mister. If i sell the most cookies, i win a bike.”

She pleads with tears in her eyes. I look at her from top to toe. She’s small enough to fit completely in the tub. Also, she doesn’t have as much blood as an adult.

“Sure. Why don’t you come in? I want to close the door so that the cold air doesn’t come in.”

I break out a smile so fake even i am ashamed of it. She doesn’t realise and steps in. Suddenly, I remember the last line from a famous song by a very well known 70s’ rock band.

“But you can never leave…”

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